#do I make myself easier to swallow or do I let them choke | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojonanami · 8 months

Text

GOT YOU - SATORU GOJO

☆ summary: satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time. (in other words, feral dub gojo had me by the throat). ☆ cw: 18+ only, dead dove, do not eat, smut, yandere!gojo, non/con (at the start), dub/con, mentions of noncon masturbation w/ clothes/in bed, manipulation, gaslighting, light choking, degradation (slut, whore), fingering (f!receiving), panty sniffing, oral (f!receiving), breeding kink, cumplay (slightly), multiple orgasms. ☆ wc: 3,132

“Got you,” a familiar voice hums in your ear, and the floor was yanked from under you - mentally and physically, because now you were pinned to the floor, looking up at the same blue eyes you had prayed you would never see again, “miss me sweetheart?”

And he knew the answer from the wide eyes and trembling lips, but that only made him all the more eager. He leans down, pressing his lips to your soft cheek, “come on, baby, not even a hello? I’d even settle for a kiss or a smile,” he pouts, feeling your hands squirm under his grasp, as he straddled you, “trying to wave hello? Thought we were closer than that,” he hums, “don’t I deserve a warmer welcome, after all the effort I took to find you? To wait here all day for you,”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, harsh and bitter, as bitter as the words you wished to scream at him - but you know that would get you nowhere, “how about you let me go, and I’ll give you the welcome you deserve?” And the quaver in your voice isn’t what gives you away, he knows you all too well, and you know he won’t let you go that easy.

“Aw baby, I'd love to believe you,” he sighs dramatically, “but after I lost you for two years, I can’t risk you slipping away again,” he noses your neck, inhaling deeply, “I had to have such patience over the last few weeks, had to make sure you hadn’t picked up on my presence, and you didn’t,” he grins, as he traces a finger down your jaw, “you know how hard it was? I spent so many mornings in your bed after you went to work, slept in it, still warm from your body, and I could smell you,” his lips curled into a smile that would have been so gorgeous, if it weren’t terrifying, “made me so needy for you baby, I had to relieve myself,” he admits with a sigh, “luckily, your hamper was full of clothes with your scent, and in your bed, it made it even easier,”

And your stomach twisted at the thought of him touching himself in your bed — and oh god, with what clothes?

His thumb brushes against the length of your cheek, “why did you run from me, baby?” and you’re silent — he knows why you ran.

Satoru Gojo was perfect when he was your best friend — the perfect shoulder to cry on when one of your crushes didn’t work out, when a job prospect didn’t pan out, or a friend had hurt your feelings. What you didn’t know was he was the reason none of these crushes ever had worked out, why a job prospect that took you too far from him didn’t hire you, and why these friends who hurt your feelings and took up too much of your time had left shortly after. But to you, he was your savior, his compassion limitless, his patience infinite — and so you fell for him, just as he knew you would. It was a drunken kiss one night when he knew you were vulnerable, when he knew that your feelings for him were so close to the surface, you couldn’t help but kiss him. And kissing lead to a confession, and then the two of you were together.

It was perfect — for a while.

Soon, you couldn’t deal with his jealousy — over coworkers, friends, even your family, and with his controlling tendencies — he wanted you to spend every waking moment with him, he even wanted you to quit your job, to let him take care of you, and you couldn’t handle his constant suspicion — the constant questions of where you were (even when you had told him) and the accusations that came along with them.

So you tried to break it off — tried. The first few times, Satoru sweet talked his way back into your heart — and your bed — with false promises and sweet kisses. But that soon wore old when his promises remained broken and his kisses left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. And when you tried to leave for good once — your bags packed — he had grabbed you, held you down, and stared at you with the same paralyzing look he gave you now, lips twisted into a smile you had never seen before, as he whispered the same two words he said when he greeted you now, “Got you,” and then he added, “and I’m never letting you go.”

“Are you going to answer?” the present Satoru snaps you back to reality with a gentle hand around your throat, his thumb running over the hollow, before he kisses it, “or should I make you?”

“Satoru, please, stop—”

“That’s what you always say, baby,” he rolls his eyes, as if he was exasperated, “and then you always end up under me, begging for more,” and he squeezes your throat lightly, “nothing but a little slut, aren’t you?” and you gasp, as he loosens his grip again, “have you whored yourself out to any of those men at work?” and he’s grazing his teeth against your jawline, “if I leave a mark, that should keep them away, right? They’ll know you have a loving boyfriend — one who’s not afraid to claim what’s his,” and he’s smiling again, “now, tell me, have you slept with anyone else?”

And you don’t want to answer — the answer’s no, you hadn’t, but you didn’t know whether that would make it worse or better. But his hand around your throat tells you, you don’t have a choice.

“No, I haven’t,” you confess — and his smug grin only serves to irritate you, as he sighs far too contently, parting your legs as he moves to settle between them, “please don't—”

“I have to check, don’t I, princess?” he murmurs, and his hand is drifting up your tight skirt, “such a slutty skirt for someone who hasn’t been sleeping around. Did you wear it just for me?” and he’s raising a brow, as his fingers roll your skirt higher, fabric straining as he did, “well, I don’t want you wearing it for anyone else, so—“ and the fabric tears apart, your legs jumping as he does, and his lips press to your knee, “there’s my perfect baby,”

Your hands are free as his hands busy themselves with spreading your leg, inhaling your scent, as his fingers trail up your inner thighs. Your hands are trying to push him away, kicking your legs helplessly, but he’s got them under his grasp. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh a little too hard, and you know he’s going to leave bruises at some point or another.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he hums when he finds a wet spot on your underwear, “look, you’re already ruining your underwear, and I’ve barely even started — you’ve been wanting this too,” and your hand finds his face, trying and failing to push him away, but he only licks the space between your fingers, “now be a good girl for me or I’ll make you,” the last words a growl, “and you don’t want me to do that,” but he feels you grow more damp with your slick as his fingers press against your clit through your underwear, “or maybe you do.”

“Satoru, please don’t do this,” you’re begging, but his crystalline gaze only grows more cold, as his lips curl as he sees hot, fat tears well in your eyes, “just let me go, I won’t run. I just don’t-“

“C’mon now, what’s wrong? How could I ever let you go?” He coos, as he watches the first tear roll down your cheek, as he leans down and tastes it, “I need you, baby, and now that I got you,” his two fingers sneak into the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin, “I’ll never let you leave my sight again,”

You flinch from his touch, squirming underneath him, “Please, I-I’ll do anything, just don’t—“ and his thumb pressed against your lips, as his lidded eyes and smirk only draw nearer.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, don’t you remember? You asked for this — you made me promise to never leave you,” twisting the words you had muttered to him that drunken night, whispered after your first kiss with him and now he purred them as he bent down, breath warming your lips, as he tilted your chin up, “and I always keep my promises,”

“Now tell me,” he smiles that same smile that had caught your heart, “tell me you want this,” he’s nibbling at your neck, and you’re melting into his touch — and he knows you’re so close to submission, “tell me, baby,”

And you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your body burning from his touch, “I want you,”

His lips curl into a wide grin, teeth flashing.

He kisses you, lips sliding against yours, and your lips shut even as his tongue tried to slip inside. And he bites your bottom lip, drawing a delicious gasp from your lips, and his tongue plunges in, as you moan, boneless and helpless.

And his hands slide down your sides, teasing the hem of your shirt, “Fuck, baby, I’m addicted to you — you taste so good,” and he’s tugging your shirt over your head, as his lips attach themselves to your jaw. You whimper as his teeth draw marks along your jaw, before trailing a path down your neck, kissing the hollow of your throat, before leaning down to the swell of your breasts right above your bra.

His fingers press against your soaked panties, the fabric doing little to prevent the full force of his touch, thick and mean fingers rubbing harsh circles against your clit, “Too fast,” you whine, back arching against the rough carpet of your living room, “too much,” your mouth falling cutely open and eyelashes fluttering, as your slick leaks through the thin material making his fingers grow sticky.

“But your pretty cunt doesn’t agree, sweetheart,” he reaches around and unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, his teeth grazing your nipple before sucking, a grunt leaving your throat, heat blooming a trail down between your legs, “it wants me to fill you — fill you like you deserve,” and he’s pulling your panties down your thighs and then pulls them to his nose, “so fucking sweet,” and he’s pocketing them for later use — your cum not going to be the only thing staining it later.

And he’s slipping down your body, kissing down your breasts, mouthing each nipple, before placing wet kisses between the valley of your chest, and down your stomach, pausing to slip his tongue into your bellybutton to make you gasp, as he hums against your skin.

“Been dreaming of tasting this sweet pussy,” he sighs dreamily, as he settles between your thighs, his large hands spreading you open for him, fingers spreading your dripping folds, making you clench around nothing, before, not one, but two fingers slip inside with ease, making you choke on air, as he steadily begins to fuck you open, “you sure you haven’t whored yourself out baby, or do you just want my cock that badly?” and he tuts, “nah, can’t be. You’re too tight, so fucking gorgeous,”

And you swallow thickly, hating the way his words make your resolve buckle — want seeping through the cracks, leaving only need behind — why were you weak for him like this? He knew you too well — knew where to touch, knew what to say to make you lose all sense, and he knew he could.

And he would do it too.

Soon enough, he’s pulling his digits from you, only the tips pressed inside as he spreads you, his mouth leaning do to press a sloppy kiss to your weeping cunt, “this pretty thing was made f’me, wasn’t it, princess?” and his hot tongue dragging your release up and down your pussy, before his fingers sink again for a hot minute, deeper than they had until they find that spot that has you seeing stars, making you moan louder, “Ah, this is where you’re weak, right, pretty baby?” And his mouth latches to your clit, sucking as his fingers bully your walls, “fuck, you’re so wet f’me, practically leaking all over your carpet, now what will your guests think?” he hums, a grin on his lips, “maybe after I fuck you, I’ll make you lick it all up f’me, clean up your mess,”

And his words drive you over the edge, making you cum all over his fingers, your slick slipping onto his palm, as he pulls his fingers from you as you moan wantonly, his tongue darting out to lick and clean his fingers clean, pressing his digits into his mouth, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted, baby,” and he’s parting you again with the tips of his fingers, before his tongue slips in.

And his tongue parts your cunt, beginning to fuck you in earnest now, as his jaw aches as he does, hot and warm muscle reaching depths you didn’t know were possible. He’s licking, prodding, and sucking, and your soft grunts and moans only made him even harder, straining in his pants, “g’nna make me cum in my pants baby from your taste and sounds alone,” and you’re already so close, too close — your first orgasm making you so sensitive, but right as you give that telltale clench, he’s pulling away a moment, to watch your chest rise and fall with half lidded eyes glazed over with lust, pretty, pretty cunt quivering from the lack of sensation, and a long whine leaving your lips.

“Want you to cum on my cock this time, baby, not in my mouth,” he says, lips and chin glossy with your slick, “we have time for that later,” and now you’re growing desparate as he just watches you, cleaning up your release from his mouth, tongue darting out to lick what he could, before using the back of his hand to wipe away what he couldn’t.

And the plea leaves your mouth before you realize it, “Please,” you swallow thickly, your words weak and broken, “Satoru, please,”

“Please, what?” he teases, as he pulls his shirt cover his head, your eyes raking over his abs and lingering on the v-line as his sweatpants rode low, doing very little to hide the large bulge that your eyes were glued to, “want me to split you open with my cock?” and he wanted nothing more, as he slips his pants and boxers off with ease, his dick nearly slapping against his stomach as he did, a pearly white bead of pre-cum resting on the flushed red tip, his hand grasping it, as he pumped it slowly to spread his release, “gonna have to use your words baby, don’t care if they’ve been fucked out of that little brain of yours,”

You pout so beautifully, bottom lip quivering, all of your resistance and fear eroded away by lust and need, “I want you, need you to fuck me, please, Toru,” you squirm, thighs parting for him, “need you inside me, please,”

It doesn’t take more than a second before the tip of his dick is pressed to your folds, “Look at you now, baby — you were begging me to leave, and now you’re begging for this cock,” and you’re moaning as he feeds your insides his dick, inch by inch, “fuck, practically swallowing me up — want to be fucked that bad baby?” And finally he’s inside you, fully seated in your sweet cunt, “or maybe, you want me to fuck a baby into you? Want me to breed this pretty pussy, sweetheart? Make me a daddy?”

And he’s starts to fuck you, hips snapping against yours — and he was unrelenting in his pace, cock breaching and bullying your insides, brushing against your sweet spot again and again. Your teeth bared down on your bottom lip, trying to hold back your noises, but he can’t have that, can he?

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “Wanna hear every pretty sound, sweetheart, wanna hear you scream my name as I fuck you,” and he begins to fuck you even harder, hips slapping against you, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching from his cock, your sweet moans of his names, and lust glazed over gaze was almost too much for him.

But it only made him more desperate to fuck you harder, until all you could feel was him between your legs for the next month, as he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders, making himself sink even deeper, deeper, deeper.

And it was too much, too much for you, as you came around his cock for the first time in two years, and god, it was the most beautiful thing Satoru had seen. Your mouth parted in ecstasy as your release slicked up his cock, as he fucked your cum back into you, as your princess cunt clamped down on him hard, again and again.

You were moaning his name again and again, the only word you knew now, mouth parted open as he fucked you through your orgasm, “Yeah, baby, cum on my cock, pretty pussy was made just for that. Gonna make you cum again and again, until you can’t live without my cock between your legs. You’d like that, huh? Make you walk around with my cum inside you, even when I get you pregnant, I’ll fuck you again and again, until you’re leaking with me.”

And you’re just moaning, nodding and broken, lost to the pleasure, as he grits his teeth, cock twitching at the sight before him, watching his dick slip in and out of you, a white ring of your release around the base of his cock.

It wasn’t much longer, until he notched his cock as deep as he could, holding himself as he gave only shallow thrusts, his hot release pumping into you, continuing to fuck it deeper, “gotta make sure it sticks, don’t we, sweetheart” he murmurs with a smile, as he captures your lips in a kiss, cock still stuffed inside of you, “can’t let you get away from me now. It’d be much harder with a baby, won’t it?”

And he’s easing himself out, groaning as he watches your mixed releases beginning to trickle out as the tip of his cock slaps against your weeping cunt. He pools the cum on his fingers, pushing it back in, making you flinch and moan, utterly blissed out, eyes fluttering as you gazed up at him.

He only smiles the same way he always did, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I got you.”

☆ a/n: i usually don't write things like this (i.e. non/con), but the dub feral gojo lines lived rent free in my head, until i wrote this (they still do, it's fine) I also don't post fics this often, but I am writing a lot of fics.

☆ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @miss-nightray

#satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk smut #satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru smut #yandere!gojo #yandere satoru gojo #yandere x reader

2K notes · View notes

brattyfork · 7 months

Text

he wins

summary: matt wins the game

warnings: manhandling, choking, spanking, daddy kink

everytime i felt him throb i clenched down on him. at first it was on purpose but now i just can’t help it.

“baby, clenching your pussy around me is also cheating”

“can’t help it, you feel too good”

“yeah? you love the way my cock feels inside you?”

“yes fuck it’s so good”

“if you give up, i could fuck you, make you feel even better” he taunted, lifting his hips ever so slightly, flexing his cock as he did so.

“don’t wanna lose…” i whined out

“i know baby but daddy wants to make you feel good.” he brought his hand up to place it around my neck. my breathing hitched and i let out the smallest most pathetic moan.

“don’t you wanna make daddy feel good?” he tightened his grip on my throat slightly.

“fuck yes daddy wanna be your good girl”

“do you surrender?” i could hear the smirk on his lips, but i didn’t care. i needed him.

“yes” i whimpered. his grip on my neck became so tight i could barely breathe.

“yes what?”

“yes daddy” i squeaked out with my last remaining breath. he removed his hand from around my neck, “get up” he demanded. i did as he said, slowly lifting off his cock. he stood up then moving to grab my shoulders spun me around to face him. he knelt down and wrapped his arm around my thighs right below my ass. as if i weighed nothing, he threw me over his shoulder. i shrieked, kicking my legs as he walked us to his room.

he walked in the door, careful to make sure i didn’t hit my head on the frame then kicked the door shut with his foot. he tossed me on the bed, my body bouncing a couple times before stilling. he grabbed my ankles and pulled me towards him. i shrieked again.

“you are only going to call me daddy, if you fuck up, there will be consequences. do you remember your safe word?” the way he spoke with such power and care created a puddle in between my legs.

“yes daddy, it’s red”

he caressed my face “my baby’s so smart, what a good girl” he smiled “on your knees, now” he pointed right in front of him. i scurried off the bed, letting my knees hit the floor. he kneeled down to me, grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling up. i lifted my arms trying to make it easier for him. he smirked, realizing i had no bra on. he grabbed my nipples between his fingers, making me gasp and squirm.

“only bad girls don’t wear bras, are you a bad girl?” he said, his blue eyes piercing mine. i shook my head no but as soon as he tightened his grip on my nipples i knew i fucked up.

“i asked you a question” he looked at me, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“n-no daddy, i’m a good girl”

he stood back up, “prove it, suck me off, show me how good you can be” i hooked my fingers in the waist band of his pants and boxers, looking up at him. he nodded and i pulled his pants down along with his boxers, letting them drop to the floor. i wasted no time taking as much of him in my mouth as i could. i bobbed my head on his cock, taking more and more of him until i began to gag. he grabbed the hair on the top of my head to force me to look at him.

“aw sweetheart, am i too big for you? do i need to help you out?” he held my hair as he began thrusting ruthlessly into my mouth. he kept hitting the back of my throat, letting out grunts with every thrust. by this point i had tears running from my eyes and nose and saliva dripping from my mouth. “i’m gonna cum in your pretty mouth baby and you’re going to swallow every last drop” i whimpered around his cock, sending him over the edge. his thick warm seed filled every inch of my mouth, i gagged slightly at the bitter taste but held back. i swallowed every little bit of his cum, so desperate to be good for him. after swallowing i stuck my tongue out for him to see.

“that’s my girl, so obedient” i could feel myself dripping at his words. he leaned down, wrapping his hand around my throat he pulled me to my feet, my knees wobbly. he threw me to the bed “hands and knees sweetie” i assumed the position, anticipating having him inside me. he walked up behind me and pulled my wrists out from under me, making me face plant into the mattress. he pulled my wrists together behind my back, held them with one hand and spit directly on my pussy. i was barely able to get a moan out before he plowed into me, earning a scream from me. “that’s right baby, scream for me, let the whole world know who’s making you feel good” he continued pounding into me at an ungodly pace, the lewd sound of his slicked up cock moving in and out of my wet pussy. i felt his balls slapping against my clit and between the sounds and the pleasure i was feeling i was close to unraveling.

“matt im-“ i was cut off by his palm coming down hard on my ass. i cried out as he yanked me up by my hair, wrapping his hand around my neck.

“what the fuck did you call me slut?”

“daddy! daddy i’m sorry!”

“bad girls don’t get to come on daddy’s cock”

“no-o please i need it” i felt tears running down my cheeks.

“you NEED to learn your fucking place” he slowed down to an agonizing pace before pulling out and flipping me over. i looked through my tears to see his eyes blacked out with lust. he crawled between my legs, grabbed my throat once again and thrust into me so hard i swear i could feel him hit my cervix. he stayed that deep and leaned down close to my face “are you gonna be good for me now?”

“yes daddy i promise i’m sorry”

“its okay baby, i fucked you dumb didn’t i?”

i nodded “don’t let it happen again” he tightened his grip on my neck ever so slightly. “yes daddy”

“want daddy to fuck you baby?”

“please daddy i need you, need you to move”

“love when you use your words princess” he started moving, slowly then speeding up.

“look at that baby” i lifted my head to look down in between us. i could see him bulging in my lower stomach “can you see daddy in your tummy?”

“fuck yes daddy you’re so deep”

he pressed his palm on my lower stomach, feeling himself through my skin.

“feels so good daddy, can i come please, need it”

“go ahead baby, you’ve been so good for me, letting me use you”

his words sent me over the edge, unraveling underneath him. my legs began to shake, i grabbed his arms so hard i would leave marks, my orgasm twice as intense from being denied earlier. matt fucked me through my orgasm but i quickly realized he wasn’t slowing down, his thrusts were still hard and sharp.

“too much daddy! please”

“i know you can take it baby, be good for me” i cried out, the overstimulation bringing tears to my eyes. i tried to withstand it but i simply couldn’t take it. i pushed him by his stomach, trying to get him to slow down at least, but he didn’t like that. he grabbed my wrists, pinning me roughly to the bed.

“you’re gonna cum one more time for daddy”

“no daddy please, can’t take it”

“i thought you wanted to cum honey, don’t you wanna be a good girl for me?”

“hnng please”

he continued to fuck into me so hard i was seeing stars.

“gimme one more sweetie, then i’ll fill you up. that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“mm want your cum”

“good girl, come on baby, come for me”

his words coaxed me closer to the edge

“look so pretty for me baby, all mine” he said running his hand up my stomach, the valley of my breasts and up to lightly hold my neck. this sent me, i screamed as white flooded my vision. i completely lost control of my body, my legs shook and my eyes rolled back into my skull. it was the most euphoric state i’ve ever been in.

“holy fucking shit” i could hear matt yell but it sounded muffled, like something was covering my ears. he exploded inside me, sending me further into euphoria. i felt him fill me up and collapse on top of me. i felt so warm and full and happy that i began to slip into unconsciousness. until, matt lifted himself up and pulled out of me, standing at the edge of the bed.

“are you okay my love”

“mhm” i nodded my head as best i could before i felt him lift me up, one arm under my shoulders and the other under my knees. he walked me to his bathroom, setting me down on the toilet before going to fill the bath with water. i went to the bathroom noticing after that matt was standing right in front of me. i looked up at him, he held both his hands out to me, the sweetest smile painting his face. i took his hands, he helped me wobble to the edge of the bath. i moved slowly into the tub as matt guided me down. once i was settled, i brought my knees to my chest and laid my head on them. i noticed matt leave the bathroom which bummed me out but i heard him putting new sheets on, the old ones soaked from my mess. he made his way back into the bathroom with two clean towels in his hands.

“can i join you?” he asks sincerely, silently letting me know i can say no.

“mhm” i pick up my head briefly to nod along with my mumble. he steps into the tub, the front of him facing my back and he sits behind me. i could feel his warm hands start to massage my back and i could’ve died happy. he continued, sweetly rubbing my back, my legs, arms and stomach, whispering praises into my ear.

“you were so good for me baby”

“treat me so well”

“i love you so much princess”

“

i was smiling like an idiot when he leaned over to leave a soft kiss on my cheek, then on my shoulder and the back of my neck. we sat there together for a while longer but i started to get so tired, unable to keep my eyes open.

“can we get out?”

“of course angel” he moves me forward slightly, getting out first and extending his arm for me to grab onto and pull myself up. he bundles me in a towel before wrapping the other around his waist.

matt leads me to the bed, my favorite t shirt, which was actually his, and my comfiest pair of undies. he steals my towel, grabbing my underwear and holding them open for me to step into. i placed my hands on his shoulders, stabilizing myself. i began to giggle, realizing this is how you help toddlers get dressed. then he grabbed my shirt and i lifted my arms as high as i could to make it easier. after my shirt was on he spoke “go lay down baby i’ll be there in a sec” i frowned, needing to be attached to his hip.

“i’m just gonna grab some water, thirty seconds max” he reassured me. i decided to just sit on the bed waiting for him to come back. i began counting the seconds just getting to twenty when he walked back in the room. i smiled at him and he handed me my favorite cup with a little plastic straw. i took a few sips before leaning back to place it on the bedside table. while i was settling under the covers, matt grabbed some clean boxers from his dresser, slipping them on quickly as he came to the bed. he finally laid down with me, he pressed his back to the mattress, allowing me to lay my head on his chest with my arm over his stomach, his arm over my shoulder holding me close.

“i love you so so so much baby” he said, lifting my chin to look at him so he could place the most gentle kiss on my lips.

“i love you too matty” i whispered, burrowing my head into him. he gave me one last kiss on my forehead before we were both engulfed in sleep.

a/n: this was so fucking fun to write, i hope yall enjoyed :3 i have a few more fics in the works, next will be a chris one i promise :)

#sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut

527 notes · View notes

rush-the-stars · 1 month

Text

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

━─━────༺༻────━─━

|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

━─━────༺༻────━─━

When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly.

But then he holds the food away from you.

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating.

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water.

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time.

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving.

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him.

He is rather pleased, though.

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it.

He laughs warmly, fondly.

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away.

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth.

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.”

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge.

The orange pops into your mouth.

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit.

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more.

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands.

You swallow the piece in your mouth.

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you.

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again.

You turn your face away from him. He sighs.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.”

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.”

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.”

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.”

Stubbornly, you remain silent.

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears.

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.”

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve.

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.”

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way.

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?”

Suguru studies you for a moment.

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him.

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice.

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are.

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds.

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes.

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now.

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better.

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him.

He takes hold of you easily.

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick.

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter.

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay.

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man.

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight?

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch.

You seek friction and he denies you.

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again.

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?”

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.”

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest.

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.”

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning.

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body.

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers.

You glare up at him with glassy eyes.

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on.

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek.

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is.

You hold his gaze furiously.

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth.

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you.

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down.

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks.

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands.

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints.

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.)

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him.

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls.

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?”

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul.

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him.

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?”

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it.

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw.

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.”

Something inside of you snaps.

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you.

In an instant, you are back atop him.

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer.

He actually cries out in pain.

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist.

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have.

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt.

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him.

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again.

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared.

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest.

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance.

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him.

Not so pristine.

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him.

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.”

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.”

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.”

“Let me up,” you snap.

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks.

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more.

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard.

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you.

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.”

And for once, you don’t fight him.

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you.

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.”

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now.

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest.

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring.

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep.

***

Suguru wakes you at some point.

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing.

You whimper.

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?”

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash.

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.”

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this.

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.”

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy.

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more.

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind.

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light.

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.”

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.”

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too.

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?”

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings.

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard.

You ache.

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever.

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry.

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain.

Suguru lifts you into the bath.

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle.

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair.

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little.

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you.

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours.

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?”

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.”

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him.

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.”

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.”

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.”

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss.

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it.

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone.

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.”

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?”

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late.

The fever only worsens.

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day.

***

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you.

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began.

For once, you have shocked Suguru.

Enough that his lips part.

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant.

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds.

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve.

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit.

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?)

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed.

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp.

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind.

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—”

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him.

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together.

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.”

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers.

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously.

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought.

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face.

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again.

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you.

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask.

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin.

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin.

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.”

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.”

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting.

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough.

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse.

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.”

You curse this time.

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.”

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.”

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger.

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself.

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.”

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly.

You bite off a groan.

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.”

“Suguru—”

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you.

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?”

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child.

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.”

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration.

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?”

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so—

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving.

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns.

You force yourself to freeze, still panting.

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound.

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.”

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away.

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?” Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you?

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.”

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want.

You desire.

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast.

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—”

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob.

Your tears make him smile.

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?”

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you.

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly.

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl.

And then, “look at me.”

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless.

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.”

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry.

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?”

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching.

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.”

Without thinking, you obey him.

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief.

You cry out, clinging to him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.”

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible.

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.”

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself.

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.”

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—”

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.”

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss.

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.”

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.”

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat.

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly.

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted.

You sob.

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you.

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder.

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat.

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above.

Ice cold water pours on you.

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water.

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you.

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap.

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap.

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on.

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms.

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.”

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile.

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender.

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges.

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.”

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly.

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother.

You feel infinitely closer to him.

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can.

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even.

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks.

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?”

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest.

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.”

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him.

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now?

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his.

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again.

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep.

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth.

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner.

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.”

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again.

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place.

It’s like finally coming home.

#suguru getou x reader #getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #getou x you #getou suguru x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #cw: omegaverse #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

135 notes · View notes

dddomenstarstwst1 · 4 months

Note

can i request a fic with rook and a sadistic amab reader fulfilling his masochistic fantasies? literally just them going ROUGH

Hi, of course! Hope you like, I'm not sadistic dom myself, more of a soft one, but I tries my best!

Hunt a Prey (ft.rook)

Warnings: sub!rook, dom!amab!reader, slight s/m dynamics, spanking, degradation, blowjob, deep throat, face fucking, riding, kinda clothed sex, biting, mentions of blood play(?) nothing too serious

a/n: character is depicted as 18+ y/o

A sharp sound resonated across the dark room. Your palm hurt from how much it made contact with Rook's skin. His ass was a mess, littered with red shapes of what once resembled your hand.

"Have you learned your lesson now? Or should I spank your filthy ass another twenty times?" You were met with nothing more than a broken whine that turned into chokes as you brought your hand to Rook's butt. Massaging sensitive cheeks, you tilted his head to look at you.

His eyes were hazy, glossed with lust, a dumb smile played on his lips. He was enjoying himself too much, it seems, "Goodness, what a dumb bitch you are! Can't even answer a simple 'yes or no' question. I'm disappointed."

Rook drops his gaze, before he slowly places a hand over your clothed crotch. His silent question is met with your nod of approval. Freeing your dick of its restraints, Rook lets his tongue slide from your base to the tip. His eyes close at the taste of precum, as his lips wrap around the head, bobbing a bit.

"Is that all you can give me? Really pathetic, y'know?" You say, before grabbing a handful of Rook's messy blond locks. His eyes widen and practically roll to the back of his skull, as you use his mouth as a fleshlight. He gags, hands flying up to grab your thighs, but you continue abusing his throat like there's no tomorrow.

"Don't make that face, I know you love it rough. You're a stupid whore after all," Rook feels tears build in his eyes, wetting his cheeks. His jaws went slack, drool spilling from the corners of his mouth. "Shit, slut! Your throat is so tight."

You can almost feel your climax already, – the feeling of cumming in Rook's mouth, making him gag and choke on your load, then watching him struggle as he swallows it all, and finishing it by kissing him, tasting yourself on your own tongue. You have to stop yourself from cumming just from your fantasies.

You tug Rook off of your cock, earning a choked whine. He pants, dumb expression on his face. You pull him on your lap, not giving him anytime to prepare as your dick enters him halfway in one go. Rook swears in French, at least you think it's French with how slurred the words come out.

"Ride me," He nods, lifting his weight off your length, before slamming it down to the base. Sounds of skin-to-skin fill your room, as Rook struggles to keep his pace even. What's worse is how you left him to do all the work himself.

Oh, how cruel you were.

"Why so slow? Can't go any faster, hm? Too dumb and useless to do even that?" You scoff and slam your hips against his, your hands already around his waist, as you pick up the pace. Thanks to position you had him in, it was easier to hit deeper.

Nails drag across your spine, teeth dig in your shoulder, breaking skin and drawing blood. You hiss at sudden pain, pulling his hair to make him look at you. His lips are covered in a thin layer of your blood.

"Fucker," You kiss him, licking blood from his bottom lip, before darting your tongue in his open mouth. Metallic taste spreads on your taste buds, drawing a groan from you. Your hips snap at his, hand still in his hair, you grip Rook's hip till it's bruised. One more addition to his already bruise littered body, something he'll cherish until they disappear and he asks for more.

And you'll be glad to paint his skin purple, for as long as he begs for it.

#twisted wonderland #twst #sub!character #sub!twisted wonderland #sub!twst #dom!reader #rook hunt smut #rook hunt #sub!rook hunt #amab!dom!reader #amab!reader

121 notes · View notes

braineater444 · 1 month

Text

To Be a Princess

Chapter 4

Last/Next

fem!reader x kokonoi/bonten

TW: Disordered eating, Mass murder, Depersonalization, Poor proofreading

A/N: This is pretty heavy because I've been in a rough place recently. Read with discretion.

The last two months have effectively blurred into each other. It’s been all the same. You wake up, Hajime dresses you, and you go nowhere. He leaves and if you’re lucky, Haruchiyo is forced to watch you. If you’re unlucky, you’re cuffed to the bed and stuck in your room all day.

“Eat this and we can go.” Hajime slides you a decently sized pork cutlet sandwich and you get to work on it without a second thought.

It hurts your stomach to eat so much after such a long time of eating so little. Your throat is even rejecting it a little. It takes more energy to chew and swallow than you’d anticipated. You definitely should be taking it slower, but you need to get out of this place. You’ve been going stir-crazy.

At least it’s a really good sandwich. Even if it pains you to eat and give him what he wants, you can appreciate a good piece of meat.

When you’re done, you slide the plate to him, and he kisses your forehead.

“Thank you.” He smiles.

✮✮✮

It’s good that Hajime is letting you tag along today because you’ve started to eat the stuffing in your pillow. Not a lot. Maybe a fistful. A decent fistful every day for about a week. He hasn’t noticed, or if he has, he’s kept his mouth shut. But you try your best to hide it. You re-fluff the pillow you keep pulling down out of and flip it, so the torn side isn’t showing. If you eat any more feathers, you might get sick though, and that’s not ideal. You should be sick, right? If you are, you haven’t noticed.

“So, do you like Haruchiyo?” Hajime asks, not taking his eyes off of the road.

“He’s alright. Weird. But he smells good. I think his teeth are fake.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a lot to explain. You realized it once when the Haitanis were over. Rindou has charmingly, somewhat crooked teeth and Ran’s teeth are perfect. Sanzu’s teeth are good at passing for real when you don’t look too hard or have anything to compare them to.

“Not all of them are fake.” Hajime says matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?” You rest your head against the window.

“I took him to go get the implants.”

“What? What happened?”

“Ran knocked three of them out. All in the front of his mouth.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean?”

“He does a lot of drugs. His teeth were on their way out, anyway.” Hajime smiles at the thought. “I didn’t want to see him missing so many teeth, though, so I took him to start getting them fixed the next day.”

“Yeah, but why did Ran hit him?”

Hajime shrugs. “There could be several reasons. I think he needed it either way.” He thinks for a second. “I just remember that Haruchiyo came to me with his teeth in his hand and he told me Ran did it. There was so much blood, he kept choking on it when he cried.”

Hajime seems amused by recalling it. He tries to suppress smiles and keep seriousness in his tone, but here and there it sounds like he’s telling you a pleasant dream he had.

“Why don’t you like him?” You prod. It’s not your business, but in the past months you’ve developed quite the attachment to Haru and while you can see tons of reasons for someone not to like him, Hajime seems deeper than the surface level.

He goes quiet in thought and then starts.

“He’s a jackass. I know I’m far from being a good person myself, but he takes it to a whole different level. His personality is grating. He doesn’t listen. And while he’s second in charge, it’s only for show. His bullshit falls on me all the time and I’m stuck with work I don’t want.” He clenches his jaw, and his hands tighten around the steering wheel. He seethes, “If being second in command was as simple as sucking Mikey’s dick, anyone could do it.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’d be easier to not hate him if he was incompetent. Okay? But he’s not. He’s very smart, and that’s what gets on my nerves. It’s like he does dumb shit on purpose, and I always have to fix it.”

“Must suck.”

“It does, but it’s fine. I’m going to outlive him.”

✮✮✮

A black-haired man slides up to your open window and starts talking before you can process who he is or what he’s saying.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, uh, they’re in his glove box. The cigarettes. I just need one.” He’s a very polite man. Very handsome too. Even with the scar marking a solid quarter of his face.

You’ve met him before, right? At the club? Had to be.

“Here.” You hand him the cigarette.

He starts to walk away but stops in his tracks. “You don’t want to get out?”

He’s opening your door and offering you his hand before you can think about it. You take it. How could you not?

“It’s weird that he left you in the car when it’s so hot.” He guides you to where a group of people are standing and talking.

For the first time in the fifteen minutes that you’ve been here, you realize that you’re in the middle of an empty shipping yard.

You look around at all the faces and then turn around to take in the entire scene. A bunch of well-dressed men in an empty shipping yard? What the fuck is going on?

“Calm down.” A friendly voice cuts through all the noise.

Rin. Why?

He checks his phone. “Kakucho, Mikey needs you. Keep your phone on you.” He says to the man that guided you here.

Kakucho walks away.

Something’s not right. Where’s Koko? Why are you here?

“Rin, I want to go home.”

He looks at you as if he’s considering helping you. Your eyes dart around, and you see Takeomi laughing with a man who has severe eyebrows and a goatee. You’ve seen him before. Other men are laughing too, but you’re not acquainted. You should leave.

“Let’s go over here,” Rindou says as he leads you to the side of his SUV where no one can see you.

“What is going on?” You ask plainly. “Why are we here?”

He scratches his head. “We have to kill a couple of people.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

The sun feels hotter. Your palms feel sweatier even through your sheer black gloves. You want to run, but you can’t in these heels, so you walk. Or so you start to walk. Rindou grabs your arm and pushes you right back against the door.

“I can’t. I can’t. Please.” Your nose tingles at the onset of tears.

“You will be fine.”

“No. I won’t. Rin. Please.”

“Stop fucking crying.” He forces out, irritated. “Do you want something to make you calm down a little? I might be able to find a pill.”

You shake your head.

“Then calm down.”

You try. Your hands smooth over the cotton fabric of your minidress. Once. Twice. Three times. Again, and again and again. But the tears don’t stop. Your head falls to your chest.

“Fuck.” He grunts. There is a split second where he’s all but throwing you into the backseat. You can feel your dress ride up and you know you flash him and when you’re situated, he looks at his watch as says, “You have about fifteen minutes to cry and then you have to be out there.” Before slamming the door.

You beat at the headrest in front of you and sob. He stands with his back to the door as if nothing is happening. This is why Hajime didn’t put any makeup on you. He saw this coming.

You scream into your hands and the fabric of those sheer polyester gloves burns when it rubs against your eyes.

You’d give everything not to be you.

The rest of the tears are silent. You lay your head back and just let them fall with the occasional hiccup here and there. There’s no more relief in screaming after it starts to hurt and it never got you anywhere, anyway.

✮✮✮

It’s more people than you’d expected. You count all the way up to twenty-five. Twenty-two grown men in their underwear, heads bowed in shame and their knees pressed to the shipping yard dirt and gravel. One woman and her two kids are in the same position but wearing the clothes they’d go about their daily lives in. Elementary school uniforms and nursing scrubs.

The two kids cry. They’ve done nothing wrong, and they can’t understand what’s going on.

At least one hundred people are standing around watching this, and you are the only one who seems to feel anything. Rindou has his arm resting over your shoulders and when you look at his face, it’s blank. Ran’s too.

Kakucho brings in a last man. He’s been beaten. Some of his nails are missing. He limps when he walks. Rindou and his brother titter. Of course they find this is funny. How long has it been since they’ve been full people?

The man bows to the detained before turning his back to them and getting on his knees. There’s a moment of breathlessness before the kids run to be at his side, hugging his half-naked body. They’re screaming and crying and begging their dad to tell them what’s happening. He stays silent. Everyone does.

Twenty-six people in total will die.

Mikey, Haruchiyo and Hajime appear. You can hear every one of their footsteps.

“Apologize to the team you let down.” Hajime isn’t yelling, yet his voice is strikingly clear.

The man yells. “I’m sorry for steering you all wrong and now you have to die because of my mistakes.” He’s shaking. Despite his confident voice, every inch of him is wrought with fear. There’s no denying it.

“Now apologize to them individually,” Hajime commands. The warm wind lifts his hair, and he almost looks like God. Mikey stands silently beside him and Sanzu stalks back and forth between the rows of men with a gun in his hand. You can tell he’s eager to do this. He’s more dressed up than you’ve ever seen him. Everyone is.

“Nakamura Touma!” There’s a loud wail at the sound of the name. “I’m sorry!”

Haruchiyo is quick. There’s the sound of a gun being fired, the woman’s scream, and grown men crying.

It’s real. You see the brain matter splatter on to the people nearest to Touma. You watch everyone flinch at the sound. The kids cower into their father. The woman folds in on herself to sob.

You stand in shock.

“Maekawa Yuichi! I’m sorry!”

It’s nothing for Haruchiyo to kill again. It’s just as fast as the last time. He executes the man with a smile. There are no second thoughts or regrets. He just lines his gun up and pulls the trigger.

This time, you’re not frozen in fear. You turn away at the sound of another namel. You’re faced with Ran’s chest and there’s a scuffle between you and both brothers. They force you to turn around.

It’s just in time for Haruchiyo to locate the man and put him to death.

“Don’t you ever turn your back. It’s bad manners.” Rindou jeers into your ear.

Your head falls as you start to cry again. Rindou’s hand comes to your hair to force your head back up. You’re met with an unreadable glance from Hajime.

The bodies fall name after name. Some men pee on themself before being done away with. It’s too cruel for you. You’ve never wanted to live in a world like this.

The numbers whittle down until the man is left with his wife and kids.

“Say sorry to your family.” Hajime sounds actually angry. The man doesn’t speak. It seems like the impact comes before the actual kick to the head Hajime delivers. The kids scurry away as Koko yells.

“Tell your wife you’re sorry!” He leans into the man’s ear. “Are you deaf?”

“Emiko!” He projects over the shrill screams of his children. “I’m sorry. Our financial troubles are my fault and I should have told you what was going on. I did this behind your back and it’s my fault—“

The sound of Sanzu’s gun going off is its own sick timer. He’s killed the wife before her husband can fully apologize.

Hajime is stoic. Unbothered. The kids’ screaming explodes into something worse. Something indescribable. They’re the type of screeches that claw at your insides and assure you’ll never be well again.

“Dead or orphaned?” Sanzu shouts to the man. It’s a question that’s impossible to answer.

✮✮✮

The screams have died. Non-executive members clear out. The Haitanis stay right next to you. Your feet are cemented into the earth. They gather around you as if you’re leading them.

Mikey speaks.

“Mochi, find someone to clean this up by tonight.” His voice is low, the wind is louder. He speaks calmly and precisely. “Rindou. Ran. Find the oldest son and ex wife. Kill them.”

They don’t object. They just nod.

“I’m going home.” Is the last thing he says before turning away. Haruchiyo trails after him.

They all disperse like nothing happened

Ran pets your head before heading to his car. Rindou bumps you with his elbow before leaving, too.

It’s like nothing happened.

Blood, piss, the salt of your tears, cologne. You can smell it in the air as you’re dragged back into the car.

Your stomach churns and your mouth feels like it’s full of slime. There’s spit filling your mouth and in place of crying, you vomit.

It’s stomach acid and that sandwich. You cough and then more stomach acid comes up. Hajime rubs your back as you lean over. All stomach acid comes up the next time.

You hyperventilate, trying to catch your breath. Spit drips off of your lips. You start to shake and you’re finally able to make a noise for the first time in minutes.

You let out a caterwaul. It rips itself through your vocal cords and punches out all the air in your body.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Hajime helps you into the passenger seat as you howl. It’s agony.

When he takes his seat you try to speak, but all you can do is let out tortured noises.

Your hands reach out to grab him and you bawl into his chest. When his hands come up in an effort to comfort you, something snaps.

You’re swinging without thought, and you don’t stop. You hit everything, but you know you mean to hit him. You punch and slap him over and over. Even the steering wheel is a victim of your fury.

For a moment, Hajime is letting you have this. Then there’s a switch where he’s on top of you with his hands around your neck and your heeled feet flailing to kick him.

It’s cramped, and every sound feels as loud as Haruchiyo’s gun.

“Stop.” He speaks gently as he strangles you.

You manage a sound resembling “why?” but you don’t know what you’re asking it for.

What?

His hair drapes like a beautiful curtain around you. You’re running out of air and your fingers are gripping at his wrists. Your dress is up your back. You can’t calm down.

“I said stop.”

You quit flailing. He lets you go. You hack and sit up as he returns to the driver’s seat.

You sob the entire way home.

✮✮✮

“There’s vomit on your dress.” He speaks softly as he unzips you and drops the new dress to the floor.

He slides your gloves off and takes a chance to feel at each of your hands. Next, your bra. He gropes your breasts with fervor. He hasn’t been this rough before a bath, ever.

You can only let it happen. You can see yourself from above as it happens. Your hair is messed up and you’re slouched over like a broken animatronic. You don’t move.

From above, you see him drop to his knees and kiss your stomach. You hear his voice like it’s being played on a shitty speaker.

“I couldn’t think of another way of showing you how well I protect you.”

You see yourself nod.

“You’ve been difficult lately, and I wanted to- I don’t know.” His hands grip at your hips. He puts his forehead against your stomach. “There’s people like that man that would’ve killed you.” He says, muffled.

He looks back up at you with teary eyes. “I’m just trying to keep you safe and I want to take care of you, but—” He searches for the words. “I don’t know how to show you that you’re better here with me.”

Your body nods.

“Please forgive me. I’m sorry.”

He hugs your waist with his face to your stomach.

You stand frozen as you return to your body.

#lived this kinda #kidding but this is what the abuse felt like a lot of the time #haven't felt happiness in like two weeks lmao #tw: abuse #tokyo rev x reader #bonten x reader #tw: violence

34 notes · View notes

riality-check · 1 year

Text

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Steve glares at the two of them. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just lets the weight of his stare settle over the room, and it’s really heavy.

Nancy feels four years old again, like she just got scolded by her mother for waking up the baby. Only this time, there’s no baby to glare at with all the malice a four-year-old can muster.

There’s only Eddie, and Nancy knows that if she looks at him, she will, bizarrely, start laughing, because that’s just the kind of night this whole shitshow has turned into.

Finally, Steve takes a breath. Lets it out. Says, “This is what happens when two smart people make a plan with zero common sense.”

Neither one of them open their mouths to argue.

“What the fuck, guys?” he whispers. “Are you kidding me?”

“Wish we were,” Eddie mumbles.

Nancy elbows him in the ribs and fights back a smile when he tries to elbow her back and misses.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve asks, but Nancy doesn’t know who he’s asking.

Eddie answers, “We didn’t want to worry anyone.”

Nancy fights not to roll her eyes. That answer sounded stupid the second it left Eddie’s mouth.

Not that she has a better one.

Steve is speechless. He opens and closes his mouth before finally saying, “I’m gonna correct myself. You’re both fucking stupid.”

Nancy bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying something cruel along the lines of “pot, kettle,” even though she doesn’t mean it.

She gets it. Steve is concerned. This is why they didn’t want to tell anyone.

“So is no one going to worry when they find Eddie dead? When Nancy starts acting differently?”

“I don’t-”

“You do,” Steve says. “You go quiet. It’s scary. And I know it would be worse if you killed a friend.”

Nancy flinches at the word. Killed. It sounds so personal. Barbaric. Cruel.

But she doesn’t have another word for it.

“Sorry,” Steve says, and then he softens. “You should hesitate, Nancy. None of us ever should have had that beaten out of us.”

“But we did,” she argues.

“We don’t have to stay like that!” Steve shouts.

Nancy looks at Eddie for some sort of help, but he’s staring up at the ceiling. She knows he’s trying not to cry. She doesn’t say anything about it.

“I can’t lose you,” Steve says softly. He takes Eddie’s hand, and Nancy can’t help but feel like she’s intruding.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, and yeah, not Nancy’s proudest moment, but she almost rolls her eyes at the pet name right then and there, “if he gets in my head, it’s better that I’m not around.”

“He’s gone,” Steve pleads. “We saw the body. We fucking burned the body. He can’t get inside your head anymore.”

He turns to Nancy. “You know that, too, right?”

The truth? Nancy doesn’t know that. Not at all.

Logically, she does. She watched the flames go up. But she hasn’t slept right since ‘83, and she’ll never be that girl again, the one who was worried about popularity and grades and writing about pep rallies.

Some days, it’s harder to put the gun down. It’s easier to justify it being in her hands if there’s a threat. If there’s someone who needs her to pull a trigger without hesitation.

It seems like that’s gone now, too.

But she doesn’t answer Steve’s question. She just curls tighter into herself, sitting on his bedroom floor, and tries not to let the weight of that realization crush her tighter.

She’s only half successful.

Eddie puts his arm around her, pulls her close to his side. She lets him.

“It’s not better if you’re not around,” Steve says, looking away from Nancy.

“I could hurt-”

“I don’t care,” Steve interrupts, and god, now he sounds choked-up, too. “I don’t give a shit. We need you. The kids need you, and Robin needs you, and Nancy needs you, and I need you. Our lives are better with you in it.”

Eddie swallows. “I can’t go through that again, Steve.”

“You won’t,” Steve says. “You won’t ever have to. But if you did, we’d figure it out. You, neither of you, get to make that decision without talking to someone. I can’t lose either of you.”

Nancy looks up at Steve. Sees that he’s definitely crying now. Wonders how he can do it without his voice shaking.

She knows she could probably dredge up an answer. She knows she would hate it.

“Please,” Steve says, and his voice finally cracks. “I can’t lose either of you.”

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, and he hauls Steve in for a hug, squished against Nancy, too.

The three of them sit for a while, breathing, finally calming down after way too damn long, until Steve loosens their little circle.

“I think talking to someone might help you two.”

Nancy doesn’t want to admit that he’s right, not now, sitting on his bedroom floor at nearly four in the morning, but he is. He is right. She’s been thinking about it for a while, more so since she wrote down Eddie’s favor on the List.

She settles for a nod, rather than admitting anything, and it feels pretty good to see some of the tension leave his shoulders.

But this, of course, is the moment Eddie chooses to fight. She can see it before he says anything, sees the way he completely shuts down.

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Steve says.

“You insinuated it.” Eddie gets up and starts pacing. His arms fly so wildly as he talks that Nancy is afraid he’ll smack his hand into the wall. “Shrinks are for crazy people, and I’m not crazy, Steve. I know what crazy is, and I’m not it.”

Nancy has heard this spiel before, on the floor of Eddie’s bedroom while he got high and she sipped on the vodka she snuck over.

I know what crazy is, he had said then, just like he’s saying now. Crazy isn’t me. Crazy isn’t dealing with what I dealt with. I’m not crazy.

Crazy is moving states multiple times to follow delusions of grandeur. Crazy is planning a trip to Disney World with money you don’t have, only to not leave the house for a month. Crazy is complete and utter instability. Crazy is shrinks that break the bank and pills that aren’t good for anything except for when you take a whole bottle of them and then a social worker takes you to live with your uncle.

That’s what crazy is, Drew.

“Will you go if I go?” Nancy asks, quiet in the midst of Steve and Eddie’s growing argument.

Both of them stop talking, hands frozen in the air.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Will you go,” Nancy says slowly, “if I go?”

Steve raises his eyebrows, and, after a glance at Eddie’s face, has the audacity to look something close to smug.

Nancy didn’t realize how much she missed seeing that expression on his face.

Eddie frowns, and Nancy can read his face like a book. He’s thinking about it. Hard. Weighing out the options, weighing his pride against the possibility of getting better, weighing his pain against whatever consequences Steve would otherwise impose on him.

Steve’s boyfriend privilege is really working in his favor. No wonder he looks so smug.

“Well,” Eddie says, smiling in a way that looks like it hurts, “I can’t let you go alone, now can I?”

Steve huffs out a laugh, and Nancy rolls her eyes.

“Of course you can’t,” she says. “It would be-”

“Bad manners,” Eddie finishes, making her laugh.

It feels good to laugh, even though it’s nonsensical. Nancy hasn’t let herself be nonsensical in a long time.

But then Eddie is laughing at her laughter, and Steve looks, confused, between the two of them.

“Inside joke,” Eddie tells him.

Nancy remembers when Eddie first told her the story when he got told he had “bad manners” for not walking a girl home as a kid and how he started being overly chivalrous to try to make up for it.

Since then, “bad manners” has applied to all kinds of exaggerated chivalry.

Eddie not letting her do this by herself probably doesn’t count. Neither of them care.

Steve groans. “Are Robin and I this annoying?”

“Yes,” Eddie and Nancy say in unison, which makes them laugh again, and for a second, for the first time since she got out of her car, Nancy feels a little lighter.

final part

ao3 link

tag list: @ashwagandalf @novelnovella @ladyapplejackdnd @silentiumdelirium @resident-gay-bitch @brassreign @starrystevie @henderdads @greyhoundsgirl @thegingerrapunzel @seths-rogens @questionablequeeries @miss-hit @edmunsn @readbythestarlight @scooby-dum86 @deehellcat @missarte-beltane @theysherobinbuckley @tillystealeaves

126 notes · View notes

kaddyssammlung · 3 months

Text

ED-related Sleep Token lyrics Part 4 (last part)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

TW: ED

Chokehold

“You've got me in a chokehold”

Like I said for some reason I have choking and throwing up connected together. You can read so much into this line. And also the word chokehold makes you really think about that vast grip that an ED has on you. Sometimes it feels like something is pressing my stomach together and I can't eat much then.

“Even if it hurts me even if I can't sleep”

Yeah it hurts. Your stomach from not eating enough or your whole body because it lags strength to carry you or your whole body from working out but not eating enough. It just hurts.

Not eating enough affects your sleep. When I don't eat enough I can't sleep well. I don't really know why that is but it's something that I've struggled with a lot at times.

The Summoning

“You've got my body, flesh, and bone”

It is consuming. Bones make think about “body checking”. You take your fingers and gently touch the parts of your body where bones stick out. You do it all the time to see if you can feel them better then the day before which means you must have lost weight.

I still do this a lot. I love my collar bones. Every time I catch myself doing it I stop it though. I don't want to this.

Granite

“Sulfur on your breath”

It makes me think about substances. For me it was alcohol abuse. Drinking on an empty stomach hits in a different way. And also I don't recommend this. Your stomach does not forgive so easily. Especially when you are crazy like me and drink stuff that contains at least 40% of alcohol.

“Granite in my chest”

Makes me think about depression and a general feeling of sadness that started to set in after a certain time of starving myself. Nothing was fun any more. I was just sad all the time.

“Reason dislocates”

Why still stave yourself when it makes you only miserable and physically ill? You kind of forget why you started in the first place. “I just wanted to be thin...” Really? Is that so? Are you sure that there isn't a bigger problem that you are running away from?

Vore

“You have become the voice in my head”

The ED voice....”You should eat something” Then you eat and then it's like “that was too much, now you should feel guilty”....”that's not thin enough” “so fat” “just don't eat it will make it easier” “one day you will be thin enough and then you will be happy”

Lies! All of them!

“My life is torn, my bones, they bleed”

When you struggled with any mental illness long enough you don't know anymore you are besides that.

“So let's get swallowed whole”

Get lost in the ED and stop fighting it. If that's your end then that's your end. I had thoughts like that.

“Walls of flesh, so warm again”

At least you are not freezing yourself to death Vessel....Reminds me of being constantly cold and therefore also growing extra hair on your body. An extra fluffy layer on you because your body can't keep you warm anymore or you can't keep your body warm.

Walls of flesh...this sounds just so damn gross to me.

Ascensionism

“Your reflection, your bitter deception”

Makes me think how you know you are think but are unable to see it.

“Who made you like this? Who encrypted your dark gospel in body language?”

You why do I hate myself and feel like I deserve to be in physical pain? Internalized trauma my dear Vessel. I mean who made you like this? Why do you write about what you write Vessel?

“Past what might be eating me from the inside, darling”

It's in here because of “eating”. The past is eating me from the inside, too.

“Make it real 'cause anything is better then the way I feel right now”

That's kind of the point of addiction. Anything to run away from your feelings, your past your trauma.

Are You Really Okay?

“I was trying to hold back the darkness”

….”you don't have to lose weight...you are thin enough....” blablab....you can't believe what they are saying. All I used to hear was “you're fat”.

“I don't believe you when you tell me you are fine”

I hated being called out. I liked hiding everything. Maybe that's why I never go severely underweight. It's easy to hide your ED when you seem kind of average or just a little underweight.

Do You Wish That You Loved Me?

“And my reflection just won't smile back at me like I know it should”

That damn feeling of hating yourself. That does not even make sense but yet you feel it.

“and there is something eating me alive, I don't what it is”

I actually hope that you know what is Vessel because knowing helps so you can let go of it. I did not know what it was. I had a feeling but I was too afraid to look into that direction until it came looked for me.

Take me Back to Eden

“And now the weightlessness recedes”

Sometimes you can feel like you are flying or floating in some way. It's a nice feeling but that does not last long. You run out of energy fast and then you try to get that feeling of being weightless back but you can't.

“come now, bit through these wires”

Why not use a damn wire-cutter? Why bite through them?!

“Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire”

...no more teeth to bite with. Idk what to do with this it's just in here because it kind of fits.

“Sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and make-up”

fun fact...I live in a region in Bavaria where a lot of porcelain (for hotels etc.) and chino also is produced.

Choking up brain matter....makes me think of having to gag and nothing is coming out and you feel pressure in your brain because of that.

Horrible feeling.

“Room feels like a meat freezer I dangle in like cold cuts”

What is it with the gross images of flesh and blood and meat?! Idk...just gross.

“but I'll take a pound of your flesh before you take a piece of my paystub”

What I just said.

“and I don't know what's got its teeth in me but I'm about to bite back in anger”

Yes, please start defending yourself. Or in my case: let go of your ED.

#sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token lyrics #tw ed

3 notes · View notes

allylikethecat · 11 months

Note

I would love to read your take on 6 and Gatty. These prompts are amazing!

Hello! I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this prompt! BUT here it is! I hope you like it! I filled #6 Kiss... on a tear, previously as a pairing with #12 Kiss... in grief, (which can be found here) so I decided to go a little more light hearted this time! I hope it's still what you're looking for! I had a lot of fun writing this, I know humor isn't necessarily my strongest genre, but I made myself smile with this and I hope it makes you smile as well! Thank you so much for the request! I hope it was worth the wait! Let me know what you think! Thank you again!

❤️Ally

6. Kiss… on a falling tear

“Be careful with that,” said George, leaning up against the counter as he watched Matty wash the dishes in amusement. Matty hated washing dishes, it was his least favorite chore, and he would do anything and everything in his power to avoid it at all costs. He was more than content to let the task fall on George, who would do it without complaint, who found the repetition soothing. Matty was the type of person that would rather buy a new set of dishware in a pinch than wash the dishes in the sink. George had accepted that about him twenty years ago, and found it was easier for both of them, and healthier for their relationship, if he just did the dishes.

But, after being heckled by the guys in the studio that morning for being a “bad housewife” because of his lack of domestic talents, and the clearly uneven divide of household tasks, he had put on the rubber gloves and insisted that while he might not have cooked for George that evening (George made dinner as usual) he could at least do the washing up. George had snorted in amusement and left him to it, chuckling to himself at the way the rubber gloves were clearly too big for Matty, extra space puckering at the end of the fingers, and the hard look of determination in his eyes as he mentally gave himself a pep talk before tackling the dishes.

“I know what I’m doing, you don’t need to hover over my should-” Matty started before cutting himself off with a strangled exclamation that sounded like a distressed cat, the water from faucet hitting a spoon at just the right angle to send it splashing back into his face, soaking the collar of his tee shirt as he scrambled, clumsily diving forward to turn off the sink instead of just moving the spoon- the water still hitting him as he sputtered before the slamming the faucet off.

George couldn’t help it, the next thing he knew he was doubled over, gasping for breath as he laughed at the sound Matty had made, at the absolute look of horror on his face as he turned to face George, dripping and covered in soap, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a confused fish.

“What just happened?” Matty asked, clearly not understanding how physics worked, which made sense seeing as how he was constantly getting into trouble for skipping math and sciences courses in school. It only served to send George further into his spiraling laughter, he couldn’t stop, hands clutching his stomach, tears filling his eyes as he laughed.

Matty scrunched up his nose, looking like a distressed kitten who had just fallen in the bathtub, he was still dripping, having made no move to even wipe off his face.

“Stop,” he said, his voice cracking as a grin threatened to break through. “It’s not funny,” he tried to argue, swallowing his own laughter. George's laughter was contagious and the absurdity of the situation striking him now that he was no longer being sprayed in the face.

“What even was that sound you made,” George choked, hiccuping which just set off another set of giggles, “I thought I knew all your sounds but even I have never heard that one before.”

“Stop it!” Matty said, he was laughing now too, “The water wouldn’t stop!”

“You just had to move the fucking spoon you didn’t have to turn the whole sink off,” George laughed, Matty shed the gloves, tossing them onto the counter as he made his way across the kitchen to where George was standing. They both knew they were being ridiculous, that it wasn’t even that funny, but it was a shock that had set off a fit of full body laughter, and once George got started, it wasn’t nearly impossible for him to stop.

“Stop laughing at me,” Matty pouted over dramatically, stepping into George’s space, reaching up to rest his hands on his shoulders as if he was trying to instill some kind of critical, sage, knowledge. “It’s not funny.”

The seriousness of his tone just made George laugh harder, Matty chuckling himself, tears dripping down George’s cheeks. Matty stood on his tip toes, leaning forward to kiss one of the tears that leaked from George’s scrunched up eyes, before his intrusive thoughts won out and he found himself licking George’s cheek, his hot, pink tongue darting out quickly, tasting salt.

“God,” said George, still laughing as he pulled Matty closer, not even caring that Matty was getting him wet as well, pressing a kiss to the crown of Matty’s head, and burying his nose in the curls, trying and failing to stifle his laughter. “Don’t ever change.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to finish the dishes,” Matty asked, pulling away slightly to look up at George through his lashes hopefully.

“If you can live with the fact that Hann and Ross are never going to let it go,” George said, wiping at his still leaking eyes.

“Do we have to tell them?” Matty asked, trying and failing to look seductive, the effect lost with the way water was still clinging to his eye lashes and water was dripping from his hair, running down his neck in soapy divots.

George snorted. “I’m telling literally everyone about this.”

Matty groaned and pressed his face into George’s chest.

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #fanfiction #matty healy rpf #the 1975 rpf #matty healy fanfiction #gatty #matty x george #prompt fill request things #prompt fills #prompt fill #kiss prompts #kiss prompt #the kiss prompts are migrating over to ao3 #thank you so much for requesting this #i had fun with it #i hope you like it #thank you to everyone for the support!!

7 notes · View notes

bookwormscififan · 3 months

Text

Falling Into the Bite, Chapter 10

Read on AO3!

Previous part

A/N: A short little chapter for you guys today that might just break your heart.

Warnings: Self-deprecation, thoughts of suicide.

“Let me go,” Yancy said quietly, closing his eyes and clenching his fist. “Let go of my hand, and let me do this. We both know it’s the only way.”

“The only way to do what?” Illinois scoffed, holding Yancy’s wrist tighter. “How can you be so sure they won’t turn you after you’ve died? You’re giving up your free will if you do this. You’ll make it easier for them to turn you. Yancy,” his voice grew soft, looking at Yancy with pleading eyes. “Don’t let them have the easy path.”

“We live in a castle full of vampires,” Yancy whispered, lip trembling as a tear fell down his cheek. “I offered to help a blind vampire write a novel today. I can feel Murdock’s hands on my body, and I don’t know if I should feel attracted or disgusted by it. You-you were an adventurer, travelling the world to find the best treasures.” His knees buckled, and if Illinois hadn’t moved closer, he would have fallen. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” Yancy sobbed, collapsing into Illinois’ arms and burying his face in his shirt.

“This, right here? This is real,” Illinois murmured, holding Yancy close as he cried. “My arms around you are real. The night air biting at your cheeks is real. What Murdock’s done to you is also real, but I will spend the rest of my life helping you to separate that experience from the things that make you smile and sing.”

----

Yancy woke feeling warm and safe, a feeling quickly replaced by terror when he noticed the arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close to a body behind him. His voice caught in his throat, and he started to thrash around as tears pricked his eyes, letting out choked sobs of protest when the arms tightened around his waist before releasing him.

“Yancy, breathe,” Illinois’ voice behind him was soothing, reminding him that he was safe in their room, laying in Illinois’ bed, those were the adventurer’s arms around him. He gulped in lungfuls of air, slowly calming down, then turned to look into the adventurer’s concerned eyes. “Are you with me?”

Yancy answered with a small nod, holding his fists up under his chin as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” he said softly, looking at the spot on the bedspread between them. “I just—I’m sorry, youse don’t deserve this.”

“I promised to help, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not going to hurt you, Yancy.” He rolled over to get out of the bed, pushing a hand through his hair and pacing the room. “I just need to remember not to hold you while you’re asleep. You need time.”

“Time,” Yancy scoffed, falling backwards onto the bed and staring at the ceiling before looking back at Illinois. “Why were youse in the bed with me anyway?”

“You asked me to,” Illinois replied, wiping his face with a cloth and the basin of water on the dresser. “You wanted me by your side to protect you in case Murdock came back.” He changed out of his sleep shirt into a simple button-down, then turned to look at Yancy. “You may have killed your parents, but you’re still psychologically traumatised from the manipulation Murdock did to you.”

“Youse are too nice to me,” Yancy mumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes with a sigh. “Youse should’ve just let me jump from that balcony last night. Put an end to all the problems we’ve got happening.”

“Why?”

“Because it would have been better. Because I should never have come to explore this castle with youse. Because every time I close my eyes I can still see Murdock’s staring at me through the darkness, hungry and wanting, and I can’t stop myself from wanting to see those same eyes in the daytime.”

-------------

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch

#writing #fanfiction #markiplier fanfiction #vampire au #angst #i got my angst skills back baby

2 notes · View notes

kamiranna77 · 1 year

Text

~ Part 8. ~

The man grabbed my hips and looked at me with his wonderful green eyes. But I felt the need to kiss my Professor.

I stood on my toes and gave him a quick kiss. He raised his eyebrows significantly:

„What was it just now, my dear?”

I put my index finger to my lip and bit it lightly, pretending to be a shy girl unaware of anything:

„I don't know, Professor...”

Finally, he grabbed my cheeks and started kissing me with such passion that I was pleasantly warm between my legs. His lips were warm and very passionate. I parted my lips slightly, making it easier for the man to play with my tongue. He was extremely lithe and penetrated me fiercely. I moaned into his mouth, then threaded my tiny fingers into his jet black hair and tugged lightly. He let out a moan of pleasure as he ran his fingers through my loose hair.

After a while he pulled away slightly from me.

„You are wonderful... One of a kind... Come here little girl...”

He started sucking on my neck making me a big hickey.

"Oh God... What's happening to me?! I've never acted like this before! I don't recognize myself!"

The man, after making a hickey, touched his work with his finger and looked down at me:

„It's time for you to show what your pretty lips can do again... On your knees my pet...”

I literally fell on my knees in front of him not knowing what to expect. After a while, my Professor began to undo the buckle of his belt, unfastened the button and with a decisive movement unfastened the fly of his trousers.

I saw that I wanted to... No, I had to free his cock.

I was almost pleading:

„Professor... Please allow me...”

He smirked as if he was waiting for this.

„Do you want it that much?”

I nodded my head vigorously. He pointed to his pants:

„You know what to do my dear... Just take it slow, enjoy every moment.”

I grabbed his pants in my hands and started to slide them down. I moaned in excitement when I saw how tight his boxers were. I realized that seeing his cock would be the best thing for me. I dreamed about it... I grabbed his black boxer shorts and slowly started to slide them off, additionally licking my lips with my tongue...

Suddenly I froze...

I expected him to have a big cock, but not like this. I looked up at the man, swallowed, and asked:

„Professor? How...?”

„If I'm not mistaken, I'm 18 cm, but... enough questions. Do what you have to do my pet.” sounded like he didn't care.

Big, thick and swollen... Yes, that was his cock.

I felt like a little girl who got a lollipop.

I opened my mouth slightly to put it in slowly.

My Professor had rather different intentions - holding his cock with one hand he literally forced me to shove it all in. I barely made it, because I've never had such a big cock in my mouth and I was afraid I'd choke. I felt tears form in the corners of my eyes.

The Professor, however, firmly grabbed me by the hair with his free hand.

I wanted to lower my eyes slightly, but the professor chastised me:

„Uh, uh, uh... Eyes on me, my pet. I want to see how much pleasure sucking gives you.”

I felt like I had to give him that blowjob...

I wanted this... It doesn't matter that he's my Professor and I'm discrediting myself and acting like a whore. Nothing else mattered.

I looked at the man. I saw a sly smile and a twinkle in his eyes before he stroked my hair lightly.

Finally he replied:

„Admit to Y/N that's what you wanted, right? You took my cock so willingly... Such a good girl...”

I felt the need to touch my pussy, which was definitely wet.

My Professor admonished me:

„Oh, no... Take your naughty hands away, pet. I promise I'll take care of your little sweet pussy as soon as I fuck your mouth...”

I meekly removed my hands so as not to upset him.

The man began stroking and combing my hair, and I attached my tongue while doing him good. I just didn't know he was one of the men who didn't orgasm so quickly...

#loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki x y/n #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x teen!reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki dom

7 notes · View notes

iampikachuhearmeroar · 10 months

Text

hey, as someone who struggles to take vitamins regularly, let me tell y'all that vitagummies are not cheating... especially when you did take vitamins for a period, like the ones that you need to swallow whole (or crush, let's be real if you struggle with swallowing them), again vitamins that you can chew are NOT cheating.

so for years, I thought that struggling through swallowing (and gagging on... and burping up the taste of these tablets) fish oil tablets, chalky asf zinc tablets, women's multi vitamin tabs, and iron tabs.... I thought I was being such an adult, doing it the "proper way" all bc it's all my parent would buy.... but also bc I'd been taking them since high school, I might as well just continue with them, right?

but then, 2020 happened. I had my stomach tumour removal surgery.... and struggled with swallowing pills that I HAVE to take at every meal (hello, creon). I'd have the same gagging, the same choking and like refusal to take the tablet from my throat, where if I left it on my mouth too long, or tasted it, or whatever else.... I just couldn't take it. like my body would just reject it. so that caused me to break down my creon tablets into just the pellets that are in the tablet casing and put them in orange or apple juice (to mimic stomach acid).... bc after a month just being fed intravenously in hospital, it was impossible to swallow these tablets whole (which you HAVE to do). and it also put me off my food, which was. uh. not good, nor very helpful.

but once I got out of hospital and was healthy enough to try taking vitamins again, my parent was still buying the vitamins that you ~need to~ swallow whole (and I stupidly went off of creon, which is a whole other problem for another post)..... and I still felt like vitagummies were cheating and such a little kid thing to take, even after a super traumatic time in hospital.... when I was supposed to be making at least SOME things much easier for myself.... plus I had to finish those bottles of tablets bc they were just sitting around in the kitchen.

anyway, eventually, I felt like "hey maybe I should FINALLY try adult vitagummies bc maybe I do need more iron and zinc (for my skin) again, and if i could find B12 and folate vitagummies that'd be great. and I haven't looked back from the vitagummies since tbh. vitagummies aren't cheating. chewing your multivitamin and omega 3 tablets is not "childish" instead of swallowing what I find to be an inconveniently and comically large pills for both women's multivitamins and fish oil/omega 3 tablets. or incredibly bullshit chalky zinc and iron tablets.

get chewable tablets. for the love of god. they are an aid, NOT a cheat or a kids thing. it's not some weird step into adulthood or being a grown-up or some other dumbass shit to take vitamins EXACTLY like they say on the bottle, whole. especially when you're choking on them or actively struggle to swallow them bc your brain wants to burp back out fish oil at fuckin 8 am before uni or work (this was happening to me it was FOUL). take those gummies!!! or if you can't get gummies where you are, at least crush some of the harder pills up (multivitamins zinc or whatever else you might take) to make them easier to have.

although it can't be helped with some other tablets like creon and pantoprazole. those HAVE to be taken whole, really. which is a pain in the ass. but for things like your vitamins, make it as easy as possible, please.

#life #about me #shut up ilona

3 notes · View notes

dietc0k4 · 2 years

Text

Villain background story:

(Tw: EDs, vomit)

Hi. I’m Nikki. I’d been overweight my whole life. Not to a point where I couldn’t do simple or even strenuous tasks but I never even cared. No one called me fat, because I wasn’t. I’m just… pudgy.

I’m jealous of people who can love themselves but I can’t love me. “That’s narcissistic.” ~my ‘friend’. I don’t believe her, but if I’ve learnt anything from being a woman it’s that people will always have something to be angry about. I’d rather it be “she doesn’t eat. It’s probably for attention.” Than thinking that I’m fat every time anyone looks at me.

I started stopping eating (that sounds stupid, grammar who?) when I was around 12. I can’t remember exactly but I stopped around then. I didn’t know why at the time but now I know it was because I have severe social anxiety.

I would choke up in front of people and not be able to swallow. I would have panic attacks at the dinner table and gag on the way to school. Sometimes, my throat would close up at school in classes. I began to have panic attacks walking to those classes. I’d feel my heart in my throat pumping blood through my body as if I had to run away from some monster when a teacher would ask me a question. I still answered and I still get good grades.

I never once asked for help, I hate confrontation so it makes sense. (Swear I’m not an uwu I’m so cute and anxious girl) suddenly I was having blood tests and taking vitamins. Apparently my parents had noticed my inability to eat.

They pretended they didn’t know what was wrong with me so I played along. Pretended I had no clue. No one else in my family knows but it became a nightly occurrence for me to rush upstairs to rock myself into a calmer state and rip off any clothing that would touch my neck or feet.

I would hear them downstairs “I hope she’s ok.” “She’s been a while.” “I’ll go check on her.” I’d say I’m fine and rush back downstairs. Pinch myself at the table to stay grounded. I still feel constantly sick. The gross starchy sickness.

I don’t like how I look now, with random chunks of fat that I don’t think I could ever melt away without a gym subscription which my parents won’t let me get. Presumably out of fear that I’ll work myself to death, but they’ll never admit to that.

Even so, I feel better now when people talk to me. I still hate everything about interaction but knowing that my arms and thighs are the same width or that my neck is slim makes it easier to cope with when someone walks past and says hi.

Now I eat alone once a day. I let myself drink as much as I need (sparkling water because it makes my throat relax and I don’t gag when I drink it) I want to get rid of all of the fat on my body. I hope that by next summer I can save up enough to buy clothes that fit me now (as my parents won’t buy me any) and I’d love to finally have a flat stomach or abs. Not huge abs, but at least a line or two that aren’t old stretch marks on my stomach.

That was deep. Here, have a pic of my grumpy old man!

8 notes · View notes

killyourrdarlingss · 1 year

Text

Character Interview - Dennis Dustin Monroe

tysm to @henbased for tagging me in this !! did it take forever ? absolutely! but, it was so, so worth it. and of course I chose Jacob because he can actually get info out of Dennis lol.

This is written in a much simpler style, very just one line, action, etc, or else this would have been 10k and honestly i just dont have the energy-- so script style ? kinda.

(formatting broke please look at this work on my actual blog/desktop site for proper format, no idea how to fix this but it looks BAD on mobile, if anyone does lmk)

TW for extremely negative views, past mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, blood.

Dennis is called in by Jacob for a chat and definitely isn’t an intimidation technique of any kind since Joseph's taken a liking to Dennis.

Nah, definitely not.

“State your name.”

He falters, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, looks anywhere but Jacob’s eyes.

“It’s Dennis.”

“Full name.”

“Dennis Dustin Monroe.” a pause,

“I really hate it though, if i’m honest… and seems like if I’m staying down here, I should be.”

A scoff, or a laugh, a chuckle? Dennis doesn’t think too much into it.

“Relationship status.” not asked like a question, Dennis observes.

“Single..? I…”

“Really?”

Dennis has to bite back a comment.

“And you're happy with that, I’m guessing?” he doesn't look amused, he just leans back a bit, exhales like Dennis is boring him.

“Being single or just in general? because it’s complicated.”

a pause, “for both.”

“Do you have a smoke, or something–”

He feels like he��s choking.

“Are you happy?”

Dennis bites at a hangnail,

“I don’t think so.”

Jacob nods, the chair creaks under him.

“You’re angry?”

“Yeah.”

“At what, what are you mad at?”

He rips the hangnail from his finger, spits it away from Jacob on the floor and sucks at the blood forming.

“Who knows.”

Jacob’s foot taps on the floor, Dennis’ eyes shoot up,

“Myself–” Dennis doesn’t feel like talking but he does, his eyes are watering and Jacob’s unmoving like a stone,

He blinks once,

“I wish it was me.”

Jacob doesn't prod, hums under his breath.

“Let's move on.”

Dennis looks away.

“Your family, parents, are they married?”

“Technically? No.”

“Explain.”

“N-” Dennis chokes, coughs, his eyes water more, tears down his cheeks– he feels vulnerable.

More than before.

“No.” he picks at the bloody nail and moves his eyes down to the floor,

“I don't want to do this.”

“You will.”

“You scare me.”

Jacob laughs.

“Where were you born?”

Dennis wipes the now cold tear from his face.

“I was born in Montana actually.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yeah.”

Dennis smiles, emotionless.

“Next.”

“I’m assuming your hair isn’t naturally green.”

“You’re pretty smart.”

Jacob clears his throat, Dennis jolts,

“Brown.”

“Your eyes are…” Jacob leans in, Dennis swallows,

“Hm,” there’s a smirk on his face,

“Weird I know, I get it a lot”

Jacob stares, grabs his chin and looks closer.

Dennis stays stiff as a board,

“Brown on the left, blue on the right.”

Dennis pulls his face away, it's his turn to clear his throat,

“Next.”

“You can't be older than John.”

“I think I know what the next question is,”

“When you were born.”

Dennis nods,

“September twenty-fourth, nineteen eighty four.”

“Hm.” Jacob relaxes only a bit, “You're turning forty soon.”

“Don't remind me.”

“Current mood?”

“Worse now that you’ve reminded me.”

“Nothing wrong with it.”

“I think I wasted my life.”

“You still have time.”

“Next.”

“You're a man, I’m assuming.”

Dennis laughs.

“John wrote these.” Jacob looks over at a paper on a small table beside them,

“Summer or winter, morning or afternoon.”

“Summer, and night.”

They both nod.

A laugh, it should break the tension, it doesn’t.

“Are you in love, Mr. Monroe?”

“Hah–”

Dennis feels the air break up a little bit, he still wishes he had a smoke,

“Would it make it all easier if I was?”

Jacob looks like he’s actually thinking but says nothing.

“So, single, not in love, angry at the world?”

“Just your type then?”

Jacob laughs a bit louder,

“Did you end your last relationship?”

“I've ended all of them.”

“Don't feel bad- breaking their hearts like that?”

Dennis sounds proud,

“Nah.”

“Nobody good enough?”

“Could say that.” Dennis smirks, “only ever liked this one guy so I thought about it.”

“Thought about?”

“Something longer, love maybe. Maybe I just liked his face.”

It’s Jacob’s turn to say it,

“Alright, next.”

Dennis nods,

“Can I smoke now?”

“Bad habit.” but Jacob hands one to him regardless,

“A light?”

“Not yet.”

Dennis puts it between his lips regardless.

“Big on physical contact?” Jacob leans his head in his hand, “Don’t seem like the type.”

“Depends.”

“Hugged anyone recently?”

Dennis goes quiet,

“Maybe.” he smiles.

“John has stupid questions.” Jacob bites as he reads the paper, throwing the blame.

“‘Do you have a secret admirer–’ really.”

“Yeah you–” Dennis looks up and sees the annoyance burning in his eyes and shuts his mouth,

“Next question.”

The tension is back,

“Broke many hearts, how about your own?”

Dennis has to think about it, bites around the filter,

“Next question.”

“You need to answer,”

“Light this if I answer?”

Jacob nods, “Go on.”

Dennis holds out the cig,

“The answer’s no.”

Jacob flashes his teeth as the tip of the smoke begins to burn.

They both settle.

“The next questions are quick.”

“Good.”

“Lemonade or iced tea?”

“Really?”

Jacobs foot taps, Dennis breathes smoke in,

“Okay, lemonade.”

“Cats or dogs.”

“Dogs”

Exhales the smoke,

“That makes sense.”

“Really- What if I lied?”

Takes another drag, Jacob digs in his pocket for his own smoke,

“No, you didn’t.”

Dennis grins, all teeth,

“You’re right.”

“Many friends or just one good one?”

“Neither.”

He hears a lighter click,

“I agree.”

The tensions replaced by nicotine, Dennis feels looser,

Jacob scoffs,

“A Romantic night doesn't suit you.”

“And, you know me so well, what's the question?” he can't help but laugh,

“-Or a wild night out.”

“Ah.”

Jacob hums.

“Maybe I just need to try it– romance.”

Jacob breathes out, takes another drag,

“Maybe.”

Dennis doesn’t pursue the thought.

“Day or night?”

“For romance?”

“No.” Jacob’s over the subject, Dennis can't help but tease.

“Night.”

Jacob exhales slow, right at Dennis before asking the next question,

“Love or Lust.”

“Oh.” it slips out, Dennis feels heat on his cheeks.

Jacob stands from his chair and boxes Dennis into his own chair, hands on each armrest, leans in,

“ I know, Dennis.” his eyes don't move, he gasps out and tries to move his head away, suffocated, tar in his lungs.

“You’re scaring me again.” easy to default to, Dennis braces.

Jacob brings a hand to his face, tilting his head back to look at him,

“If you know, why do I need to answer?

Jacob smiles,

“-Love.” he shuts his eyes as he says it, voice raised, Jacobs fingers press firm into his cheek,

“fuck– You– how do you…”

He lets him go, sated.

Dennis immediately takes a drag and pulls himself together,

“He seemed happier, last I saw him.”

Dennis shakes his head, “You don’t–”

“I know my own brother.”

He doesn't say it loud, but the small change in tone makes his blood freeze and he backs down,

“Right. Sorry.”

“Next question.”

Dennis nods.

“Have you ever?” Jacob walks closer to the table and nods,

“Got caught sneaking out?”

Dennis looks to his surroundings, bleak, gray, hospital room,

“Could say that.”

“Fell up or down the stairs.”

“Sure.”

Dennis stubs his cigarette out,

“About Joseph, how did you know, we were uh– I mean, I just- I don't believe you entirely either.”

He watches Jacob, eyes sharpening as he shakes his head,

“Have you ever wanted something so bad it hurt?”

Dennis nods,

“Yeah, you?”

Another nod.

“Ever wanted to disappear?”

Dennis leans his arm against the rest,

“That would be nice.”

“Tell me what happened, and I’ll tell you how I know.”

Dennis wagers, looks at Jacob’s expression, unreadable.

“Any more questions?”

“Preferences.”

“Could use a smoke.”

Jacob lights one with the tip of his own, hands it over,

“Smile or eyes.”

“Eyes.”

“Taller?”

“Mhm.”

“Intelligence or attraction?”

Dennis breathes in,

“A bit of both, I prefer smart men though.”

Jacob raises an eyebrow,

“Why?”

Dennis smiles, shrugs, “I think it's cute.”

“Relationship or one night stand?”

“You know the answer.”

A chuckle.

A beat passes, a silence, Dennis wonders what’s coming next.

Jacob reads the stack of papers, lights a new cigarette,

“Your Family.”

“No–.”

“How was your relationship with them?”

Dennis looks away, shuts his eyes, takes in a long breath,

“Standard.” he smiles, albeit shadowed by something more. “My sister Becky, Mom an’ Dad… big happy family.”

“Have a messed up life?”

“Hah–!” Dennis picks the smoke from his lips,

“My Mom and Sister are dead, so, yeah.”

“How?”

Dennis just looks away.

“Run away from home?”

Dennis nods, “I’m here, so yeah, I did. Ran away from everything.”

The recorder clicks, Jacob flips the tape inside it.

“After your mom died?”

“After my sister did.”

Jacob looks perplexed, Dennis feels he has an edge over him with it. He goes back to smoking and the next question is asked,

“Gotten kicked out?”

“Technically. Dad said to make something of myself or leave. I left.”

“So, your Mom and Sister die, and he,” Jacob pauses, exhales, “proposes that?”

“Yep. ‘Big happy family’.” Dennis mocks.

“Or, well, it was just us. Not much of a family at that point.”

Jacob grimaces,

“Consider yourself pessimistic?”

Dennis shrugs,

“Next question.”

Jacob flips the page, sits back in his chair and looks at Dennis, then the page, Reminds him of his old therapist –

“Friends?”

“Didn’t you already ask this?”

“No, do you have a friend you hate?”

“No.”

“Do you have any friends?”

Dennis flicks the ash of his cigarette,

“Are we friends?”

Jacob doesn't respond,

“Then no.”

He flips to the next section, prematurely.

“Best friends?” He looks tired.

“Well,”

Jacob looks up, goes to flip the page back over,

“It was Becky.”

A pause, Jacob flips the page.

“So, no friends then.”

Dennis laughs. What else is there to do besides laugh.

He can see through the page in Jacob’s hand, there's one line written stark on the paper and it has Dennis eager. Unsure how long they’d both been asking mindless questions, he clears his throat.

“So?” He taps the ash once more, to the damp floor, “Are we done?”

“Who knows everything about you?” Jacob looks expectantly at him, says nothing besides the question.

Dennis opens his mouth, scoffs, “What am I supposed to say–”

Jacob doesn't budge.

“Am I supposed to say me?”

Jacob seems amused by it all, Dennis’ slight confusion growing as he tries to stare him down.

“It's just,” Dennis deescalates,

“You're acting like I should know?”

Dennis, after minutes, gives up. The other doesn’t prod.

“Don’t worry, you will.”

The interview, or conversation, is finished.

The recorder is clicked off.

Dennis stands up.

Jacob mirrors, speaks,

“Wait.”

He does, as Jacob walks over to a white cabinet and opens the doors.

“You left your sweater on Joseph's couch.”

The color drains from his face, and he almost drops his cigarette to the floor,

“I–.” it's the only word he can say as he tries to stutter out an excuse.

The shirt is pressed to his chest and Dennis grabs it with his free hand. It seems cleaner than it had been originally. He tries not to think too much into it.

Jacob brings a hand down firm to Dennis’ shoulder.

“Now, let’s try this again.”

Pressed down into his chair once more,

Dennis simply nods.

#far cry 5 #gothiewrites #dennis dustin monroe #male deputy oc #joseph x male deputy #at it's core lmao #gothies fic tag #jacob seed #joseph seed #jacob smokes in this. personal hc

4 notes · View notes

casspurrjoybell-22 · 7 months

Text

Master - Chapter 64 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

"Oh. Oh. I want to show everyone to their rooms," Kalem cheers as he gets to his feet.

"I made yours extra cold, Luciel, so you won't miss home too much."

Luciel laughs with the rest of the council as they all gather any loose items whilst standing to their feet.

The meeting hadn't stolen any truly great deal of time, much as I'd expected.

It was our first, after all and though everyone in the clan was still adjusting to the new structure of things, they were doing so exceptionally well.

With my current ban on turning any new vampires and the former Pylens acting as wardens, the matters of issues were few and simple enough to handle.

Things were as they should be, as they were meant to be to say the clan was thriving would be an insult, we were doing far more than that.

"Thank you, Kalem," Luciel replies gently.

"I'm sure I will like it very much."

"Luciel," I call with a slight frown.

"In the case that I need to say it. You do know that relocation is possible? Your clan does not have to live in a fortress of ice."

"We've been telling his people that very thing for ions," Fae replies with a shake of her head.

"They are insistent on freezing to death."

"As you insist on burning in your desert lands," Karios retorts as she settles at the door, waiting for Kalem's lead.

"You are both psychotic."

"Or kinky," Wenquie interjects.

"There's a lot one can get up to in different climates."

"And that is my cue to leave," Sterling says with a hearty chuckle and a bit of redness, too.

"Kalem, the rooms?"

Kalem rushes out the door, all too happy to lead everyone who follows behind him with shared smiles and conversation, unaware of the fact that neither Wenquie nor I was continuing after them.

"Are you not coming?" Wenquie asks, his gaze showing the worry he no longer tried to hide for me.

"I will join you all soon... after I see Malcolm."

Wequie's shoulders drop slightly and I know all he's going to say before he even starts.

"It would be easier if you just let him sleep," he whispers carefully but I still find myself tensing all over at just the thought.

"For him... for us."

"Wenquie, please"

"This isn't living," Wenquie presses.

"Not for him and definitely not for us."

I close my eyes and shake my head.

I didn't want another argument, we had far too much as it were and I didn't want the day to be ruined for him.

He'd worked so hard to get it all prepared alongside Kalem, happy to get their hands in something, if only for a distraction.

"I'll join you later."

Wenquie eyes me for a moment longer before he nods and retreats, graciously letting me win for today.

I blow a breath out, trying to steady myself but when my eyes pass over the chair that had remained empty earlier, I find myself choking on it.

Pain casts itself over my insides but I swallow it down and start on my way, hoping and praying that Kalem's white lie will prove to be true for once.

I wait until I've walked several paces from Malcolm's room before I let myself lean against a nearby wall.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in deep and only let it out when I can't take it anymore.

Today marked four months since Arias had left Malcolm and he was only getting worse.

He didn't cry anymore, not with physical tears, that was.

They'd ebbed after the first set of weeks, his tear ducts likely drained like the rest of him but he still cried.

In the stillness of early morning, when the castle was at its quietest, I heard his sobs.

The sound was like that of a battered animal that showed no signs of healing.

They would grow loud and horror-some until he could no longer make a sound.

Then, when he was drained both inside and out, he'd try to fall under.

Every day, he tried to give in to the call of the deep slumber and every day... I was forced to stop him.

I'd used the Lyrra on Malcolm in the past but it'd never been like this, each time leaving me drenched with the stench of betrayal.

Malcolm's choice was supposed to be his own but I was taking it away by keeping him awake.

It's for his own good, that was what I told myself every time I was the source of his prolonged envy, every time I faced Wenquie's anger and my own guilt.

'It's for his own good.'

If allowing him a slumber meant that Malcolm would wake as I knew him in decades or even centuries, I would've allowed it without even a moment's hesitation but sleep would only prolong the path he had to make through this.

Letting time pass didn't mean the pain would go with it.

He'd wake one day and be bombarded with all this pain as if no time had passed at all.

It would still be fresh and damning and I couldn't, wouldn't, bear to see him suffer so.

So I kept him awake and now, the only time my best friend spoke to me was to beg for mercy.

He begged and begged, like a captive seeking refugee or a tortured soul that saw me as the villain when I was only trying to help.

I knew that soon those pleas would turn into demands.

It was only a matter of time and when that happened, it wouldn't be long before they became hateful curses.

It was the order of things.

I knew that but just the thought of ever facing Malcolm's malice made me live in fear.

"God, when will this end...."

A cough sounds nearby, forcing me to part my eyes and face the world again.

In the otherwise empty hallway, it's not a task for my gaze to find the lone figure waiting against the opposite wall, their obsidian gaze honed on me.

Zhoron.

I blink once as I take in the new form he'd elected for himself.

Kalem had told me he'd taken the shape of a warlock but seeing it in person was still jarring.

Zhoron had kept his long hair as dark in colour as his eyes but his previously staggering height now matched mine.

His features were still sharp and piercing but softer in places where the pretence of witch magic filled the mask, covering up the demon beneath.

It was my first time seeing him in his new form because in truth, I hadn't seen the Nyphilim in all my time back within the castle but that was not for lack of trying.

I did actually want to get to know Kalem's brother, to a degree but he didn't seem to share the desire.

Zhoron only lingered nearby when he wanted to see Kalem and once they parted, he was quick to return to wherever he'd claimed as a home.

It wasn't a problem for me.

If he liked only his space and Kalem, that was entirely fine but if that were the case, why the hell waiting for me?

"What is it?" I ask, half afraid to be presented with some new problem and too tired to try and frame my words any nicer.

"Zani shared that you wished to speak with me," Zhoron replies very plainly, void of any and all emotions.

He didn't sound nearly as unearthly as he did in his true form.

It was more of a stilted timber that still managed to be eerily cold.

"And you've come to talk months after that request?" I reply drily as I push off the wall. "And here is where you wish to do it?"

Zhoron's thin brows tug closer for a moment before they ease.

"No. I was ready to speak with you for quite some time but there is never the time for it. You are either preoccupied with your clan, my brother or your grieving friend. I grew tired of waiting," Zhoron explains in a measured list.

"If you worry that your friend shall hear us, I have warded us so no other will."

I frown as I look around, only just noticing how unnaturally still the air had become.

If not for the fact that Zhoron would never risk Kalem's wrath or happiness, I'd be somewhat worried that my life was in danger but as it stood, the thought didn't linger in my mind for very long.

"Well then, what matter did you wish to discuss?"

I swallow my rising annoyance, reminding myself that Zhoron was naturally pissy, he was a demon born to kill after all, it was in his blood.

"The charge," I reply making his eyes narrow instantly.

Zhoron sweeps his gaze over me in a flash so quick that I almost miss it.

"The charge?"

"Yes, I want to know what it is truly about."

I'd had more than enough time to ponder the situation and I'd done so, time and time again and yet I still could not figure out the reasoning behind it, the cause.

From all Arias had told Kalem, he'd come here because he had to, it was a task that the 'protector' had to complete to preserve their realm's future.

That made sense to me.

What didn't was how aiding me and, by extension, my species, helped see that cause through.

More than that, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it that Arias hadn't shared and I was well and truly tired of being held in the dark.

"Zani and I left long before that practice was established. I have no knowledge of it," Zhoron replies smoothly, too smoothly.

"But you understand it more than I do and Arias' charge in particular."

It wasn't a question.

"Otherwise, why would you listen to him? You wiped the memories of everyone in this clan because he said to."

"It was to protect Zani."

"But you went along with it? Just like that?" I ask as I step forward.

"I don't think you would've done it so quickly, if you didn't trust him to some extent."

Zhoron remains quiet, his narrow eyes becoming slits.

"I want to know why," I press. "I want to know what this charge is about."

1 note · View note